When you live with all males, it’s inevitable most days your life will revolve around poop, whether it’s picking up after the two as#holes (our dogs), wiping the savages bums (my toddlers) or maneuvering through the Husband’s (an aging Punk Rock Star) daily trials and tribulations.
But yesterday, it was something all together.
Let me set the scene:
I was in the bathroom- hysterical- well, not hysterical, more like in shock because I had just sliced off the tip of my index finger cutting up watermelon. Blood gushing into the sink, not sure if I was going to laugh or cry, and our Bolivian Nanny moaning, “Oooh, Taracita! Ooh, Problema, ooh, Taracita, Problema”. Me thinking, “you think, Shirlita? God damn right this is a big fucking problema.”
At that point, the Master Manipulator (my 3 year old) shows up, buck naked, and urgently proclaimed, “Hey Mom, I got something to show you!”.
"Not now!", I moaned. "Mom just cut off her finger".
Then I looked at him in the doorway and asked, “Wait, where are your clothes?”.
"C’mon Mom, I’ll show you," he squealed.
The Master Manipulator led Shirlita and I on a short walk to the patio in the backyard.
"Look, I did it!", he squealed. "I went poop!".
And yep, he wasn’t shitting. Right there on the cement was a freshly formed turd and next to it, his spiderman undies and shorts.